Mark Merrill entered upon his duties like one who had gone in to win.
His modest nature recoiled at having been discovered as a hero, for he
had hoped to gain success without there being one thing in his favor.
He had as a room mate a youth from South Carolina by the name of Bemis
Perry, a quiet, unassuming youth, about Mark’s age, and who made a
pleasant companion.
“You knew Clemmons before you came here?” said Bemis Perry, the day
after the two had become mates.
“Yes, I had met him.”
“They say his father is awfully rich, and the king bee of his part of
the country.”
“Yes, Mr. Clemmons is said to be a very rich and influential man.”
“And Scott is his only heir, I hear.”
“He has a sister, I have heard, who is younger than he is.”
“What has Clemmons got against you?”
“I really do not know,” and Mark did not, for he did not recall having
ever done aught to cause Scott Clemmons to dislike him.
“Well, I’ll tell you that he is not your friend, Merrill.”
“So I am aware, but it is a matter of utter indifference to me.”
Entering upon his duties, Mark was naturally put in the same “awkward
squad” as Scott Clemmons.
The latter had been to a military school for a couple of terms, and was
thus priding himself upon his being well up in drill.
He had, in fact, mentioned that he had been captain of his company at
the military school which he had attended, and in various ways he had
thrown out the hint that his father was enormously rich, and a man of
great influence with the government authorities.
He had also taken occasion to say that Mark Merrill was the son of a
poor widow who, from the charity of the agent in charge of a fine old
house, was allowed to live in one wing of it, while her son had been a
mail-carrier and fisher lad.
Now Herbert Nazro was the cadet midshipman who had the drilling of the
new men, and he had with rare judgment taken in the characters of those
under his command.
He realized that they were all green, some exceedingly modest and
willing to admit their know-nothingness, while others were determined
to “cheek it through.”
Mark reported for duty, and when the cadet officer said: “Well, sir,
what do you know?” he answered, with extreme candor:
“Nothing whatever, sir.”
“Then you can be taught easily,” was the frank reply.
“And you, sir?” he turned to Scott Clemmons.
“I do not understand you,” and Scott Clemmons meant to overawe the
cadet officer.
He made a mistake, and he soon realized it.
“Why were you not paying attention, so that you should know?” was the
stern question.
“You were not addressing me, sir.”
“I am now, and I ask you, what do you know?”
“About drilling?”
“Yes.”
“I am pretty well drilled, though perhaps a trifle rusty from lack of
practice.”
“I’ll get the rust off of you, never fear.”
“I was captain of my company.”
“In the army?”
“No.”
“When you address your superior always use the expression ‘sir.’”
Scott Clemmons flushed at the rebuke, and Cadet Officer Nazro asked:
“Where were you a captain?”
“At the military school which I attended.”
“What did I tell you about addressing your superior? Be careful not to
err again. Then you have been to a military school?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir. Am I compelled to speak thus to you?”
“Go ask the commandant.”
“No, sir.”
“If you were a captain, you should have known as much. I see I shall
have a hard time with you, for it is no easy task to teach an old dog
new tricks. Fall in line, sir, and take the position of a soldier.”
Mark Merrill really felt sorry for Clemmons, and the little advice
given the youth he decided to take to heart.
He had seen several military companies parading, and that was all, but
he meant to do his best.
He fell in line, and when shown the “position of a soldier” by the
splendid young drill-master, he determined to keep his mind upon the
duty before him.
In spite of his having been a “captain,” Scott Clemmons was found more
fault with than all the others of the awkward squad.
“You are wrong, sir,” shouted Cadet Nazro. “Just see how you stand.
Your drill master must have been a veteran of 1812. Now these men
can learn, for they know nothing; but you know it all, and like most
know-alls, you give no demonstration of your knowledge. See Merrill
there, how well he stands, and I have not had to correct him a second
time, nor Perry either. Look to it, _Captain_ Clemmons, that I don’t
have to correct you again.”
There were others of the greenhorns who got rebuffs, also, but for some
reason Officer Herbert Nazro seemed to have picked upon Scott Clemmons
for his especial target of ill-natured flings.
“He has only himself to blame for it,” said Bemis Perry to Mark, when
the squad was dismissed, after the hardest work the new men had ever
known.
“Yes, he should have kept quiet about having been captain of his
company,” Mark returned.
“As I did; for I was three years at the military school in Charleston,
but to-day convinced me that the drill there is nothing in comparison
to this naval school. We shall see stars here, Merrill.”
“I have become convinced of that,” was Mark’s laughing response.